going quackers with the spaniola

Me and Cristina the Spanish Loon having a coffee at the Cafe Insomnia on her last night in Ireland.
"Come on," I say draining my cup.
"Where are we going?" sez she.
"To feed the ducks on Stephens Green," sez I.
She looks at me suspiciously.
"Are you trying to be romantic?"
"Why would I try to be romantic after five years?"
"Are you?"
"What's romantic about asking you to come feed the ducks?"
"Feeding the ducks together is romantic in Spain."
"In Ireland it just means you want to feed ducks."
"Are you sure?"
"It's about the great harmony of life. Living things in God's kingdom being close to each other. Getting in touch with the universe and nature and all of that. God has put glory in every living thing. He touches you with the glory when you feed his creatures. I feed the ducks all the time. I rarely have sex with them."
"You're not coming on to me?"
"Do I look like I'm coming on to you?"
"I don't know. You look kind of funny."
"You mean the way I always look."
"Yes."
"Listen to me. In this country feeding the ducks is a completely meaningless activity without any sexual undertones or overtones whatsoever. I assure you, we almost never date ducks in Ireland. And the ducks aren't into dating us either. You daft Spanish bim."
Presently me and Cristina are beside the pond in Stephens Green.
I am feeding the ducks.
"This getting you hot?" I ask.
"Yes James," sez she wearily. "You're very sexy."
"Still got it," I reply with grim satisfaction whipping out a crust and waving it at a mallard.